


Still alive

by SailorStarDust1



Series: Ground Zeroes AU [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, M rating because overall GZ ickiness, POV First Person, Unrequited Love, What-If, implied bbkaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:17:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorStarDust1/pseuds/SailorStarDust1
Summary: Written a year later, the sequel to Yoru that nobody asked for!Paz's POV.





	Still alive

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think(?) I've written in first-person POV since university, so the more ways to flex my writing muscles, the better. (I'm taking part in the "In Defense of Peace" Kaz Zine, so...Practice, practice!)
> 
> Also! In the Kaz Radio podcasts, my dumb head canon is that Kaz’s MSF bitch named Mongoose (a poor MSF soldier that Kaz thrusts various tasks onto, including bringing him more food/drinks) is 100% Medic (Ahab). Rest in pieces Venom :3
> 
> I'm a bit surprised there isn't any BB/Paz on here (even unrequited) but it's understandable, given the relationship.
> 
> This fic's title comes from an RE 3 line by Jill because, why not.

I awaken to the sounds of machinery beeping, a bright light filling my senses. Of faint, crashing, ocean waves and morning sunlight filtered through a window. My breath catches in my throat with surprising awareness that yes, my heart continues to beat.

...I should have been left for dead.

Why, and more importantly, _how_ , am I still—

"Welcome back, Paz."

A familiar, kind, voice interrupts my thoughts. _That person's_ medic is offering me the warmest, the most sincere, smile. I remember once I began living aboard Mother Base, he'd always visit the Mess Hall in between his shifts to chat with myself and Amanda or Cécile, or to sample our cooking. With his genuinely kind nature, the medic—his codename Mongoose—would never fail to crack a clean joke, or happily and mutually dote over Nuke's cuteness. 

In a feeble gesture of returning kindness, I try to sit up and smile in turn, yet—It's no good, I'm feeling terribly weak. Apparently under rather heavy drugs given the various IV drips and machines, the fatigue I'm feeling is due to my exhausted state, rather than pain. With strong arms, the medic gingerly helps me sit upright—even going so far as to fluff the pillow against my back.

His kindness leaves me internally startled. I don't deserve it. Not after...

"You'll be fine with plenty of bed rest...You're safe now. Chico is on his way back home to Amanda." He reassures me, carefully resting a hand on my buzz cut 'hairstyle' before realizing his close proximity, straightening with a slight cough, giving us both mutual space. A comfortable distance. 

I don't deserve his kindness. And Chico...It is a pity that all the apologies in the world wouldn't even _begin_ to rectify the mistakes, the words, the actions, of that hell we were together thrust into, of his innocence taken away. All because of the horrors of war. 

"I'm sorry if it's somewhat abrupt, but are you feeling well enough for visitors?" Sensing my beginnings of discomfort, he quickly adds: "I promise this isn't an interrogation."

Mongoose doesn't need to tell me who's waiting on the other side of the hospital room. I already know. That fake accent from the days of my Paz persona returns in full force. "Yes, it is alright."

Slightly nodding, Mongoose opens to reveal that man slowly entering, as Mongoose takes his leave to offer us some privacy. Certainly he has other patients far worse off than myself; those on the brink of death. Through the now open door I notice a familiar blonde in his XO uniform, perhaps intentionally waiting behind. Crossed arms and an evident scowl on his face as his gaze stays fixed on the floor ahead of him. 

I'm suddenly flooded with memories of my teasing laughter while he 'sings' horribly during his assistance in translating my lyrics for the Peace Day festival. The warm strings of Miller's guitar filled the room once I resumed singing the parts we already translated. Of feelings that can't reach your special person. English to Japanese was an interesting choice, I recall agreeing. It had helped, too, that Spanish and Japanese share the same vowels.

Or his words of reassurance after I had been forced to shoot Coldman—Zadornov's doing (I was no stranger to using a gun under Major Zero's training regimen, yet. Something about Miller's allegedly honest reassurance...). 

My eyes fall to my crumpled hospital blankets. It's impossible to meet either Miller's or Big Boss's eyes.

Just as well when the door closed behind Big Boss. Leaving us effectively alone together. 

Had I known that  _Miller_ was the one who kept in contact with Cipher...There wouldn't have been a damn thing I could have done. I laugh bitterly without realizing the pain I had been holding in, my understanding crystal-clear that unless you are Big Boss, those who oppose Cipher are left to die. That beyond Cipher, something far worse lurks within the shadows: that horrifying demon with a skull for a face.

Snake makes his presence known through actions rather than words. Steaming yerba mate within the gourd, straw-filter attached, greets my field of vision. Due to my American upbringing, I wasn't familiar with this Argentinian drink until Cipher relocated me to the Costa Rica region.

I carefully accept, in the process raising my face so our eyes finally meet.

His smile is thin—but it's there.

Remaining silent, he sits in a chair near my bedside. I only now notice his clean-looking white t-shirt and camo-patterned shorts he wears for Mother Base's constantly hot weather. It was always a strange sight to see the legend out of uniform, rarer still to see him without that woman's bandana, faded with age.

His own letting go of the past, of letting go of the woman whose ideals neither Zero nor Big Boss could agree upon a 'proper' interpretation.

That was where I came in.

And that, was where I had failed.

One, two, three sips of the familiar beverage before I take pause. Our eyes are still locked. I had long forgotten the taste of a luxury such as tea, dirtied sips of water a rare occurrence during my imprisonment and torture; any scraps of food rarer still.

I slightly shuffle about while taking care to not yank out various wires, or spill my tea. There's lack of surprise at how small my voice sounds.

"...Thank you."

Immediately, the eye contact breaks. He pulls an unlit cigar from a pocket, merely playing with it during a far off gaze, wisely knowing better than to light it within this makeshift hospital.

Words fall flat on my lips and die within my throat. In this early morning sunlight, the beginning accumulation of gray strands throughout his beard and many wrinkles against his exhausted face—his neutral expression doesn't fool me; my own exhaustion easily rivals his, considering—are evident.

It's almost unfair that a military commander aged thirty-nine has to be so ruggedly handsome. 

* * *

The setting sun, the smell of the sea, return to my mind. A happy memory of Snake innocently, gentlemanly, taking my picture as I playfully modeled for him at the beach. Cécile and Amanda helped pick out my bikini with (surprisingly) Strangelove's advice. As I had found out later, Miller suggested Snake check on me sometime, since my adjusting to life on Mother Base being just that: an adjustment.

Those very people I had despised where the more time had passed, the more I enjoyed our mutual, hypocritical, peaceful lives together.

That time spent on the beach together, alone together, took a rather hilarious turn once Snake began to jokingly sneak off in one of his many ridiculous cardboard boxes. I couldn't help but hold back laughter in that moment. Where on Earth did he _get_ these things? Putting my own (limited, in truth) sneaking skills to good use, I carefully lifted the box above my head during a moment's rest he had taken...And my hands immediately wrapped against his naked, scarred, hairy chest. Hugging Big Boss from behind.

Immediately, Snake had stiffened in shock while I let out a girlish giggle. My acting, posing as the innocent teenager, and the truth of a female spy in her mid-twenties began to blur. Uncertainty bubbled within my chest: Which was the truth, and which was the lie?

And how....when...where along the line had I...

"What am I going to do with you?" I had giggled again, one of my fingers lazily outlining against a nipple. My heart beat had quickened, little by little. Perhaps in vague shock—surprising, when nothing seemed to shake this legend—Snake had stayed silent. 

I readjusted my position, intentionally my breasts pressed into his arm and chest, as I pulled Snake close for a deep kiss within his cramped box, my hands against his scratchy beard while our tongues caressed.

 _Sorry for everything_ , a lyric from the song, immediately came to the forefront of mind.

He lingered within my embrace for a while, before remembering himself and breaking away. His eye was unreadable. Was the aura he gave off internal shame—or anger?

How, I wondered, how had I gradually fallen for a man that I was more similar to myself—more similar to my views of 'peace'—than I initially thought?

I strained my ears to hear his nearly growled words, despite his expression returning to his usual calm.

Some would call it a stoic expression.

"There's no way _in hell_ you can be sixteen." Snake shook his head while my heart quickened, for all the wrong reasons. Did he suspect? "Not with the way you kiss."

Laughing lightly, I wrap both of my arms around Snake's bicep, charm laid on thick. "I'm always honest with you. How can you think I am hiding something?" I bat my eyelashes, hoping the somewhat ridiculous response will ease his internal fears.

"...Hm." Pocketing himself for a cigar which he lacks within his swim trunks, Snake cursed quietly before lifting the box above his head and discarding it.

I cannot blame him for his suspicions, based on Zero's data files pertaining to Big Boss. Snake had felt betrayed by so many alleged allies in the past—and would probably continue to _be_ , given the nature of his work—that it was the natural reaction to have.

The chill from the ocean breeze prickles my skin while I wrap my arms around myself, sun now sinking against the horizon. "We missed the sunset..."

"There will be plenty of chances to see it again." A friendly hand squeezes my shoulder; Snake is offering me an honest smile. "We should have a party down here with MSF once work's more relaxed. Maybe it could be a part of Peace Day?"

"Ah, that's a wonderful idea!" I can't help but brighten at the thought, internally curious why I can't shake off my disappointment.

Snake's disinterest isn't it, either...Although I'm silently thankful any accusations stopped dead in its tracks.

Perhaps it is the vague disappointment that he and his subcommander are practically glued at the hip. Since Miller's infatuation is obvious enough to be seen from outer space, has either of them acknowledged it, given the nude sauna fight earlier this month? I suppose matters between them should stay between them, yet knowing that I could never 'win'...

It's just a little frustrating.

Snake's warm hand doesn't leave my side as together, we slowly return to Playa Del Alba's extraction point, to Mother Base.

* * *

"You don't have to thank me, Paz. But I have some important questions to ask once you've healed up. About Cipher, and the unit that attacked Mother Base last night."

The memories from last year fade as quickly as they resurfaced. Swallowing, I offer a shaky nod upon the realization our eyes are locked—and that Big Boss's good eye is gentle. Full of warmth. Understanding.

It's a small relief that Big Boss and his men mean me no harm, that there are no threats of throwing my damaged body into ocean, upon their understanding the truth. Although I would not blame them in the slightest.

With such a charismatic force leading the MSF, it's understandable that the Major wanted me to act as the 'middleman', only using ZEKE as a last ditch effort to ensure Militaires Sans Frontières fully understood Cipher's will.

Our heads turn at the same moment to see my door slowly open. Miller, holding Nuke, who was happily nuzzling against this visibly exhausted man's arms.

He offers me a cautious smile which I attempt to return fully...Given my relentless physical scars, my fresh emotional and mental traumas...

I'm only dimly aware of that same comforting hand around my shoulder—Snake's—while a still-silent Miller gingerly deposited my purring 'son' to knead atop my hospital blankets in between headbutting the now-warm mate gourd. 

Through a tear-filled smile, the words leave my lips before I have time to even process them. 

"Go ahead and ask me whatever you need to."

**Author's Note:**

> ('Love Deterrence acoustic guitar duo' forever intensifies)


End file.
